Sunday, July 30, 2006
Greeting acquaintances with a chirpy cry of "Awright mate, how's it growing?"
On espying a female indulging in any kind of ill behaviour or "acting herself", casually remarking to one's associate "Dat bitch needs ho training"
Intoxicated public house toilet urination, resting one's head on the wall for support, blissfully unaware of the slash, snot, hockle and assorted effluvium contained therein.
Getting a skinheed haircut and pulling "zany" nuttyboy-style faces whenever you catch sight of your face in a mirror.
On getting your round in and being informed by the barkeep "Five pints, two bags of plain crisps and a Slim Panatella- that'll be £19.25", looking in your empty wallet, turning white and stuttering, "But...but I'm ruined! Ruined, d'you hear?!"
Demanding that you are always to be referred to as 'Hero of the Carpathians'
Passing by a pretty girl wearing a floppy hat out walking her baby on a sunny day.
A propos nothing, shouting "Ninja man! Boom! Boom!" in a Beenie Man style.
Having a go at trepanning. Whaddaya got to lose, eh?
This heat we're having.
The fine work being done by Matt Browns and Jayne Middlemi on "Love Island Aftersun" wherein they spin tv gold from the thinnest of thin gruels.
At the end of a long day spent captaining Industry or clinching deals in The City, removing one's clothes in the manner of a stripper, twirling the shirt and all the business.
In response to the simplest of requests, respond in an irritating faux-european manner eg "I am thinking that you would like two sugars in your tea? This is correct, yes?"
Playing neat one-twos.
Those shiny, nylon, old-man polo-shirts, as sold in Greenwoods, provide a natty look for the modish late-twenties man about town.
Shiny red lipstick. When worn by a woman, obviously. No weirdos.
Plighting one's troth to a wealthy dowager, flying in the face of the County.
Women who call each other "mate".
Using the subject line in an email to write the entire message and leaving the main body blank.
Oafish t-shirts with unamusing sexual innuendo slogans eg "Can I fcuk you up the arse?". Coarse.
Still driving around with your World Cup flags on your car.
Getting all boozed up on "adventure soup" ie absinthe and making a fearful show of yourself.
Getting all boozed up at a wedding and making a fearful show of yourself
Getting all boozed up after a Worlds Cup of Soccer quarter-final and making yada yada yada...
Identifying common themes.
Purchasing an "old skool" harrington jacket, with the tartan lining and everything, then having second thoughts and not wearing it.
Passing snotty comments about air crew as being "nothing more than glorified skivvies, really". What are you, a rocket scientist? No, you work in a bloody call centre, don't you? Eh?
Wearing Converse trainers, especially in the mistaken belief that doing so makes you "down wiv da kids".
Couples who tell you about TV shows that "we thought was good" or "we don't like". Just because you're shagging each other doesn't mean you have to share the exact same opinion about every single thing, capiche?
Public house musicologists who will tell you that the current song being played "is aal aboot wanking, ye knaa"
Them awful green and brown leather tasseled shoes you get in shops catering to middle-aged chaps.
Claiming to be well in with the Yardies
Young coves constantly referring to one another as "legends". You mean "bell ends", lads."
Going Commando". Does not suggest sexual adventurousness, as you may like to think. Rather, prepare for piss-stinking trousers and a balloon knot chafed ragged by coarse jeans stitching.
K-Swiss. Trainers for ponces.
That whole thing with Israel and the Arabs. They take it dead serious, don't they?
Rubbish personalised number plates that don't even resemble your name very much. The wretched denizens of a hell lower than that reserved for people with proper personalised number plates.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Mix the second:
1. Ennio Morricone - Viva La Revolution (Tepepa)
2. The Flaming Stars - Ten Feet Tall
3. The Fall - F-' Oldin' Money
4. Big Black - Passing Complexion
5. Bert Kaempfert - Afrikaan Beat
6. Basement Jaxx - Run 4 Cover
7. Spankox - To The Club 8. Kenny - The Bump
9. Fatboy Slim - everybody loves a carnival
10. Camera Obscura - I need all the friends I can get
11. Joboxers - Boxerbeat
12. Smiths - Jeane
13. Iggy Pop and Peaches - Kick It
14. Upsetters - Dollar In The Teeth
15. Go! Team - We Just Won't Be Defeated (live)
16. Chemical Brothers - Where do I begin
17. Mohawks - Champ
File size - 68mb.
Anyways, I can't be blethering away about the weather like some sort of crazy old biddy you get stuck next to on the bus, can I? As you well know, the Colonel is all about bidness, so here's the deal.
Firstly, thanks for all the positive reaction I have received from well-wishers regarding my twin abstensions from "the booze" and "the one-night stands". I am pleased to inform you my resolve has not cracked. Laying off the sauce is proving to be no problem whatsoever, but it does trouble the old conscience to be constantly letting down members of the fairer sex who are keen for a night of no-holes-barred boot-knocking action. Still, omelettes/broken eggs/all that.
Next, what does a sophisticated bon viveur do when the pleasures of the flesh and the comforts to be found in a bottle are off the menu? Well, durr, don't you even know that one yet?
He watches ITV's soaraway success reality gameshow-cum-knocking shop "Love Island", that's what.
You may remember series one of "Celebrity Love Island" from last year. Long, lingering close-ups of Abi Titmu's beetle bonnet, Paul Danans going mental, Rebecca Loo giving Callum Bests a nosh in the showers, all that good stuff and much more besides.
This year they have dropped the word "Celebrity" from the show title. This is not because the contestants are so obscure that only their immediate family would recognise them, as some observers have been unkind enough to suggest. No, it is because the producers wanted to avoid the unfortunate acronym associated with a show called "Celebrity Love Island Two".
Thus far, the show has been top-notch entertainment all the way. Whether it's thickie Alicia Douvalls failure to recite the alphabet, Gazza's step-daughter giving Leo out of The Streets a crafty ham-shank under the covers or posho couple Lady Vicky Hervey and Chris "my dad is Pierce Brosnans, you know" Brosnans having dealings in the shower, it's been good stuff all the way.
Throw in the excellent bitch-fest show "Aftersun" on ITV2 where Matt Browns and Jayne Middlemi pour much-deserved scorn and ridicule on the pinhead inhabitants of the Island and you have all the ingredients for the televisual highlight of the summer.
Catch it now before it gets cancelled. Nobody else is watching it, you see.
Good though "LI" is, one can't watch it all day. So to fill the hours, one bangs a tune on. Because I love you all, I am giving you the chance to share the joy of voguish beat combos and forgotten reggae types in a bonanza mp3 mix giveaway type of thing. I spoil you, don't I?
1. The Harry J All Stars - Liquidator (Trojan Sound System Mix)
2. The Selecter - Too Much Pressure
3. Dolly Parton - Nine to Five
4. P.Neezy, Joanna Newsom and Tego Caldrone - Bridges and Balloons with a Bagel on It
5. JayZ - Big Pimpin
6. Gnarls Barkley - Crazy
7. Sean Paul- Temperature
8. l.o.c-ring ding ding (repack)
9. De'lacy - Hideaway deep dish edit
10. juelz santana - oh yes
11. Rick Ross - Hustlin' (Explicit Version)
12. morgan - miss parker
13. wire - i am the fly
14. Retro Spankees - Out Like One
15. Moldy Peaches - Who's Got The Crack
16. Mint Royale - My Heart is Beating Fast
17. Divine Comedy - My Lovely Horse
Click this link, then download the file (click for free download, wait a minute, then save) When completed, unpack the file with WinRar . File size is about 77mb, so it's really only for folk with broadband.
Have fun with it, I'm gone, kids!
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Cowabunga, dudes, I trust you are all bob, bob, bobbing along? You are? Capital, then we can grip it and rip it.
We step into this brave, post-World Cup world with a song in our hearts and a smile on our faces. For we have made A Big Decision. We, by which I mean I, have decided to take some time out from the business of punishing the liver and numbing the senses.
I refer, of course, to getting pissed up on the demon drink.
Much like that chap in Gerry Rafferty's excellent "Baker Street" I am "gonna give up the booze and the one-night stands".
Now the "one-night stands" part of the deal is a walk in the park that should pose no difficulty whatsoever. The local female population, perhaps sensing that I was edging towards this resolution or maybe because of a not unnatural aversion to fat, drunken knackers drooling over them, has been very helpful in cutting back the ONS quotient to an all-time low.
Thx 4 the add, ladies, it is much appreciated.
However, the question of giving up the booze is a more problematic affair. Yes, the medical community may wax eloquently about the restorative effects abstinence has on the liver, kidneys and assorted internal offal, but what of the soul? Many poets have spoken of the spiritual well-being and heightened awareness that slinging back the good stuff brings a chap. Can one really afford to miss out on all of this beneficial joie de vivre?
Also, the effect on one's erstwhile drinking companions cannot be underestimated. Nobody can enjoy getting a good skinful on board with a tutting, holier-than-thou sobersides in tow. One must tread carefully to avoid appearing judgemental.
Announcing that one has foresworn the booze causes bewilderment and resentment among a cove's dreadful mates. In two short weeks I have been accused of some foul booze-addled misdemeanour which has caused me to fear for my mortal soul, had my sexuality questioned, suffered interrogations as to whether I am suffering from some sexually-transmitted infection that requires anti-biotic medication and, worst of all, been called a "boring bastard".
Still, there are some positives.
- No hangovers.
- Meeting people the day after a night out without being asked "Are you still alive?"
- No conversations with chortling memory-specialists that begin "By, you were drunk last night!"
- None of those flashbacks where an unsuccessful attempt to press one's suit with a filly floods the memory with a sickening clarity.
- A notable decrease in cuts and bruises caused by falling over in the street.
- An extra few quid in one's poke. Those stout yeomen of the bar aren't shy with their drink prices, you know.
- Getting loads of poontang, some say blart. The ladies like a clean and sober gent, you know.
That last one is a joke funny, by the way. The Colonel hasn't lost his razor-sharp wit just yet, what?
Until next time, keep on keepin' on, my moonfaced little cherubs. I'm outta here.
Monday, July 10, 2006
So, my friends, we arrive at the end of the 2006 Worlds Cup of Soccer. What a ride it's been, eh? The white-knuckle excitement of Ukraine v Switzerland, the flowing inventive football played by England, Diego Maradonas acting the giddy goat like some old Greek woman at a funeral, this tournament had it all.
Our emotions were certainly put through a wringer over the course of a dramatic month:
We laughed at the zany flailing-elbow antics of Italy's De Rossis and USA's McBrides.
We cried tears of foul pity at the plight of Christiano Ronaldos, the Boy Who Can't Stand Up.
We cringed as Graham Polls made a proper James Blunt of himself.
We ranted drunkenly and incoherently in public houses about those two bell-ends in the Budweiser adverts.
We admired the wily Argentine coach as he once again took his playmaker off and threw away the game.
We wanked our tiny cocks over the footage of those two Swedish lasses in the crowd as they lezzed up in front of the world.
We kidded ourselves that England would get good at some point.
Still, at least there were some crumbs of comfort after England made their predictable battling, poor-penalty-taking exit. Italy won the most dramatic game of the tournament at the back end of extra-time, Portugal got two beatings with Ronaldos crying at the end and more, much more than this, Zidane nutted that chap in the final.
There will doubtless be much opprobrium flung the way of old Zizou, or "Zid Vicious" as The Metro freesheet memorably tagged him, and quite right too. If you are going to stick the heid on a chap it is always advisable to go for the face, ensuring that the nose is smeared liberally across the victim's unfortunate map. Claret flies everywhere, the whole place is in uproar and you can get in a few good kicks with your boot as the unfortunate fellow has a brief lay down while he regains his savoir-faire.
Headbutting somebody in the chest is a little, how you say, rubbish. Sort it out, Yosser Hughe!
Oh well, there's always the European Championships in 2008, co-hosted by those renowned party animal nations Austria and Switzerland. I'm backing England to take this tournament by the scruff of the neck and march triumphantly all the way to the quarter-finals.
Yah mo B there, bitches. Yah mo B there!